Changes to a spacious chamber in the house of the Duke of
Friedland. Servants employed in putting the tables and chairs
in order. During this enters SENI, like an old Italian doctor,
in black, and clothed somewhat fantastically. He carries a white
staff, with which he marks out the quarters of the heavens.
FIRST SERVANT. Come—to it, lads, to it! Make an end of it. I hear the
sentry call out, "Stand to your arms!" They will be here in a minute.
SECOND SERVANT. Why were we not told before that the audience would be
held here? Nothing prepared—no orders—no instructions.
THIRD SERVANT. Ay, and why was the balcony chamber countermanded, that
with the great worked carpet? There one can look about one.
FIRST SERVANT. Nay, that you must ask the mathematician there. He says
it is an unlucky chamber.
SECOND SERVANT. Poh! stuff and nonsense! that's what I call a hum. A
chamber is a chamber; what much can the place signify in the affair?
SENI (with gravity).
My son, there's nothing insignificant,
Nothing! But yet in every earthly thing,
First and most principal is place and time.
FIRST SERVANT (to the second). Say nothing to him, Nat. The duke
himself must let him have his own will.
SENI (counts the chairs, half in a loud, half in a low voice, till
he comes to eleven, which he repeats).
Eleven! an evil number! Set twelve chairs.
Twelve! twelve signs hath the zodiac: five and seven,
The holy numbers, include themselves in twelve.
SECOND SERVANT. And what may you have to object against eleven? I
should like to know that now.
SENI.
Eleven is transgression; eleven oversteps
The ten commandments.
SECOND SERVANT. That's good? and why do you call five a holy number?
SENI.
Five is the soul of man: for even as man
Is mingled up of good and evil, so
The five is the first number that's made up
Of even and odd.
SECOND SERVANT. The foolish old coxcomb!
FIRST SERVANT. Ay! let him alone though. I like to hear him; there is
more in his words than can be seen at first sight.
THIRD SERVANT. Off, they come.
SECOND SERVANT. There! Out at the side-door.
[They hurry off: SENI follows slowly. A page brings the staff
of command on a red cushion, and places it on the table, near the
duke's chair. They are announced from without, and the wings of
the door fly open.
SCENE II.
WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS.
WALLENSTEIN.
You went, then, through Vienna, were presented
To the Queen of Hungary?
DUCHESS.
Yes; and to the empress, too,
And by both majesties were we admitted
To kiss the hand.
WALLENSTEIN.
And how was it received,
That I had sent for wife and daughter hither
To the camp, in winter-time?
DUCHESS.
I did even that
Which you commissioned me to do. I told them
You had determined on our daughter's marriage,
And wished, ere yet you went into the field,
To show the elected husband his betrothed.
WALLENSTEIN.
And did they guess the choice which I had made?
DUCHESS.
They only hoped and wished it may have fallen
Upon no foreign nor yet Lutheran noble.
WALLENSTEIN.
And you—what do you wish, Elizabeth?
DUCHESS.
Your will, you know, was always mine.
WALLENSTEIN (after a pause).
Well, then,—
And in all else, of what kind and complexion
Was your reception at the court?
[The DUCHESS casts her eyes on the ground, and remains silent.
Hide nothing from me. How were you received?
DUCHESS.
O! my dear lord, all is not what it was.
A canker-worm, my lord, a canker-worm
Has stolen into the bud.
WALLENSTEIN.
Ay! is it so?
What, they were lax? they failed of the old respect?
DUCHESS.
Not of respect. No honors were omitted,
No outward courtesy; but in the place
Of condescending, confidential kindness,
Familiar and endearing, there were given me
Only these honors and that solemn courtesy.
Ah! and the tenderness which was put on,
It was the guise of pity, not of favor.
No! Albrecht's wife, Duke Albrecht's princely wife,
Count Harrach's noble daughter, should not so—
Not wholly so should she have been received.
WALLENSTEIN.
Yes, yes; they have taken offence. My latest conduct
They railed at it, no doubt.
DUCHESS.
O that they had!
I have been long accustomed to defend you,
To heal and pacify distempered spirits.
No; no one railed at you. They wrapped them up,
O Heaven! in such oppressive, solemn silence!
Here is no every-day misunderstanding,
No transient pique, no cloud that passes over;
Something most luckless, most unhealable,
Has taken place. The Queen of Hungary
Used formerly to call me her dear aunt,
And ever at departure to embrace me——
WALLENSTEIN.
Now she omitted it?
DUCHESS (wiping away her tears after a pause).
She did embrace me,
But then first when I had already taken
My formal leave, and when the door already
Had closed upon me, then did she come out
In haste, as she had suddenly bethought herself,
And pressed me to her bosom, more with anguish
Than tenderness.
WALLENSTEIN (seizes her hand soothingly).
Nay, now collect yourself.
And what of Eggenberg and Lichtenstein,
And of our other friends there?
DUCHESS (shaking her head).
I saw none.
WALLENSTEIN.
The ambassador from Spain, who once was wont
To plead so warmly for me?
DUCHESS.
Silent, silent!
WALLENSTEIN.
These suns then are eclipsed for us. Henceforward
Must we roll on, our own fire, our own light.
DUCHESS.
And were it—were it, my dear lord, in that
Which moved about the court in buzz and whisper,
But in the country let itself be heard
Aloud—in that which Father Lanormain
In sundry hints and——
WALLENSTEIN (eagerly).
Lanormain! what said he?
DUCHESS.
That you're accused of having daringly
O'erstepped the powers intrusted to you, charged
With traitorous contempt of the emperor
And his supreme behests. The proud Bavarian,
He and the Spaniards stand up your accusers—
That there's a storm collecting over you
Of far more fearful menace than the former one
Which whirled you headlong down at Regensburg.
And people talk, said he, of——Ah!
[Stifling extreme emotion.
WALLENSTEIN.
Proceed!
DUCHESS.
I cannot utter it!
WALLENSTEIN.
Proceed!
DUCHESS.
They talk——
WALLENSTEIN.
Well!
DUCHESS.
Of a second——
(catches her voice and hesitates.)
WALLENSTEIN.
Second——
DUCHESS.
Most disgraceful
Dismission.
WALLENSTEIN.
Talk they?
[Strides across the chamber in vehement agitation.
Oh! they force, they thrust me
With violence, against my own will, onward!
DUCHESS (presses near him in entreaty).
Oh! if there yet be time, my husband, if
By giving way and by submission, this
Can be averted—my dear Lord, give way!
Win down your proud heart to it! Tell the heart,
It is your sovereign lord, your emperor,
Before whom you retreat. Oh! no longer
Low trickling malice blacken your good meaning
With abhorred venomous glosses. Stand you up
Shielded and helmed and weaponed with the truth,
And drive before you into uttermost shame
These slanderous liars! Few firm friends have we—
You know it! The swift growth of our good fortune
It hath but set us up a mark for hatred.
What are we, if the sovereign's grace and favor
Stand not before us!
SCENE III.
Enter the Countess TERZKY, leading in her hand the Princess THEKLA,
richly adorned with brilliants.
COUNTESS, TEKLA, WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS.
COUNTESS.
How sister? What, already upon business?
[Observing the countenance of the DUCHESS.
And business of no pleasing kind I see,
Ere he has gladdened at his child. The first
Moment belongs to joy. Here, Friedland! father!
This is thy daughter.
[THEKLA approaches with a shy and timid air, and bends herself as
about to kiss his hand. He receives her in his arms, and remains
standing for some time lost in the feeling of her presence.
WALLENSTEIN.
Yes! pure and lovely hath hope risen on me,
I take her as the pledge of greater fortune.
DUCHESS.
'Twas but a little child when you departed
To raise up that great army for the emperor
And after, at the close of the campaign,
When you returned home out of Pomerania,
Your daughter was already in the convent,
Wherein she has remained till now.
WALLENSTEIN.
The while
We in the field here gave our cares and toils
To make her great, and fight her a free way
To the loftiest earthly good; lo! mother Nature
Within the peaceful, silent convent walls,
Has done her part, and out of her free grace
Hath she bestowed on the beloved child
The god-like; and now leads her thus adorned
To meet her splendid fortune, and my hope.
DUCHESS (to THEKLA).
Thou wouldst not now have recognized thy father,
Wouldst thou, my child? She counted scarce eight years
When last she saw your face.
THEKLA.
O yes, yes, mother!
At the first glance! My father has not altered.
The form that stands before me falsifies
No feature of the image that hath lived
So long within me!
WALLENSTEIN.
The voice of my child!
[Then after a pause.
I was indignant at my destiny,
That it denied me a man-child, to be
Heir of my name and of my prosperous fortune,
And re-illume my soon-extinguished being
In a proud line of princes.
I wronged my destiny. Here upon this head,
So lovely in its maiden bloom, will I
Let fall the garland of a life of war,
Nor deem it lost, if only I can wreath it,
Transmuted to a regal ornament,
Around these beauteous brows.
[He clasps her in his arms as PICCOLOMINI enters.
SCENE IV.
Enter MAX. PICCOLOMINI, and some time after COUNT TERZKY, the
others remaining as before.
COUNTESS.
There comes the Paladin who protected us.
WALLENSTEIN.
Max.! Welcome, ever welcome! Always wert thou
The morning star of my best joys!
MAX.
My general——
WALLENSTEIN.
Till now it was the emperor who rewarded thee,
I but the instrument. This day thou hast bound
The father to thee, Max.! the fortunate father,
And this debt Friedland's self must pay.
MAX.
My prince!
You made no common hurry to transfer it.
I come with shame: yea, not without a pang!
For scarce have I arrived here, scarce delivered
The mother and the daughter to your arms,
But there is brought to me from your equerry [6] A splendid richly-plated hunting dress
So to remunerate me for my troubles—
Yes, yes, remunerate me,—since a trouble
It must be, a mere office, not a favor
Which I leaped forward to receive, and which
I came with grateful heart to thank you for.
No! 'twas not so intended, that my business
Should be my highest best good fortune!
[TERZKY enters; and delivers letters to the DUKE, which he
breaks open hurriedly.
COUNTESS (to MAX.).
Remunerate your trouble! For his joy,
He makes you recompense. 'Tis not unfitting
For you, Count Piccolomini, to feel
So tenderly—my brother it beseems
To show himself forever great and princely.
THEKLA.
Then I too must have scruples of his love:
For his munificent hands did ornament me
Ere yet the father's heart had spoken to me.
MAX
Yes; 'tis his nature ever to be giving
And making happy.
[He grasps the hand of the DUCHESS with still increasing warmth.
How my heart pours out
Its all of thanks to him! O! how I seem
To utter all things in the dear name—Friedland.
While I shall live, so long will I remain
The captive of this name: in it shall bloom
My every fortune, every lovely hope.
Inextricably as in some magic ring
In this name hath my destiny charm-bound me!
COUNTESS (who during this time has been anxiously watching the DUKE,
and remarks that he is lost in thought over the letters).
My brother wishes us to leave him. Come.
WALLENSTEIN (turns himself round quick, collects himself, and speaks
with cheerfulness to the DUCHESS).
Once more I bid thee welcome to the camp,
Thou art the hostess of this court. You, Max.,
Will now again administer your old office,
While we perform the sovereign's business here.
[MAX. PICCOLOMINI offers the DUCHESS his arm; the COUNTESS
accompanies the PRINCESS.
TERZKY (calling after him).
Max., we depend on seeing you at the meeting.